


If We Could, Should We?

by Ispell2



Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Trash Zeppelin Man is happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7669585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ispell2/pseuds/Ispell2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the best soldiers make huge mistakes, and even the worst people deserve to be happy sometimes.<br/>(I'll be posting the smutty bits under "If We Could, Should We? Sex Scene (x)" rather than leaving it in the main story, for reader enjoyment.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Soldier, Bad Idea

 

When she enlisted, very few other soldiers could tolerate Knight Lark Wendal. She was very... opinionated, and religiously followed her moral compass. She could be a handful at times, and a few of the Proctors made certain that their interactions with her were short and to the point.

"Knight, you are to clear out an old army satellite base. Be careful, a pack of ferals has taken up inside it; God knows how they got in."

"Yes Sir!"

"Knight, we've gotten word of a Deathclaw making nest dangerously close to a supply settlement. See that it doesn't get that far."

"Yes Sir!"

"Knight, we've discovered and captured a synth; your orders are to 'escort' it here."

"With all due respect, Ma'am..."

 _Every_ Proctor and order-giver in the Prydwyn _loathed_ to hear those words. In the end, she would manage to trade her assignment with someone else, or-God forbid- actually _do_ her job.

That happened a _lot_ with the Commonwealth soldiers. Most of them had family who were ghouls, and a couple of them knew a synth who was a good guy.

So if Wendal was such a pain to work with, why keep her on?

Because she was an inexplicably brilliant soldier. She was one of the best the Brotherhood had ever plucked from a tato farm off the rad-soaked hills of Boston. Granted, that wasn't many; not yet anyway. But she was damn good. Her specialty was in leading manhunts and wiping out 'infestations', and though she often questioned her orders, she always came through.

Despite her proficiency, the thing she was best known for was getting on Elder Maxson's last nerve. Nearly every large op she was included in (which was a reluctant few _because_ of this), she argued her points privately with him. She was respectful of him; he was a magnificent leader, and an even better soldier than she. She was almost never insubordinate, and absolutely never in front of the other soldiers. But it was a constant argument with him, and she was certain Maxson hated her.

And at first, she was right.

Over the past two years of being in the Commonwealth, Maxson was used to hearing from Knight Wendal for a variety of reasons. Pack of ghouls she's being sent out to exterminate? "Elder, we should wait for more intel. There have been no reports of injuries; they could be sane."

And of course, he'd have to listen to her suggestion, because while he hated anything that wasn't a pure human—he'd been told to do a little more to improve public perception by BOS HQ after the Danse fiasco, in which the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 began a crusade against the Brotherhood. Not extinguishing every ghoul life was probably a good way to get people to realize that they weren't the monsters they were told about.

Maxson began to actually look forward to whatever debate Lark was going to bring him next. He went out among the soldiers more often, hoping that she'd see him and get in his face about something. For a long time, he'd thought it was just because arguments are thrilling, and he was dying for a chance to put her through a wall for trying to fight him. If he pushed _just_ the right buttons, he was sure he'd get the chance.

The more frequently he thought about her, the angrier about her it made him. Something about her felt... off. Strange. Uncomfortable. It made him loose focus at the worst times as he began pre-calculating what to say in response to her. He started putting her on assignments he _knew_ would rub her the wrong way every now and then. To add insult to injury, he denied her shore leave to visit her family when she received news that her brother was getting married. But... Was he doing it because a good soldier never puts insignificant family events before their work? Or... Would he just miss her company?

He got his answer half a year later. He learned that she had been covertly keeping in touch with Danse and the Sole Survivor, Amelia. Furious, he demanded that Lark speak to him in his quarters at _once_. He was so angry that his knuckles turned white over a pair of holotapes tucked inside his trembling fist as he waited impatiently in his quarters.

This arrogant, childish Knight wasn't going to be a Knight for much longer now. He'd finally have her out of his hair.

She stepped through the hatch and stood at attention.

"You asked to see me, Elder?", she said in a husky tone, something she only ever did if she knew she was in deep shit.

He wore a shit eating grin and held up the holotapes. "What are these, Knight?", he said _almost_ calmly.

"They're holotapes, Sir."

"Oh, no. Not just _any_ holotapes, Wendal. They're for you. It seems that a certain Scribe was running these back and forth for you, and suddenly had a moment of clarity. Apparently, _you_ have been consorting with the _enemy_ ", he seethed, throwing the recordings on the ground in front of her feet. " _ **Explain yourself, Knight**_."

She stood, stunned, looking down at the orange holotapes with her mouth slightly agape.

"I..."

" _You..._ ", Maxson replied mockingly.

"I didn't see any harm in it, Sir. I wasn't speaking to them about anything related to the Brotherhood."

"I don't _believe_ you."

"It's the truth, Sir, I swear! I was only in correspondence with them about personal matters!"

"Personal matters like _what_ , hmm? Is Danse a happy _synth_ now, all married to a _traitor_?!"

"I was talking to them about my **father** , Sir! He's very ill. He's _dying_."

"You could have used an approved courier! You could have gotten in contact with _anyone_ else on the ground! Hell, you could have even gotten in touch with someone going on a ground mission!"

"No I couldn't have, Maxson! Most of the people here aren't friendly towards ghouls, and there are plenty of them working for my parents on our farm! Some of them helped _raise_ me! I couldn't risk that!"

"But you could risk your career as a Brotherhood soldier?", Maxson said coldly.

Lark stopped breathing, frozen.

"Sir... Are you saying..."

"As of tomorrow, you will no longer be a Brotherhood Soldier. Your rank and privileges will be stripped, and you will be taken off base by a vertibird to the Airport. From there you will be escorted off of Brotherhood property, and if you are ever seen near here again,  _so help me God_ -"

"I never would have had to rely on them for information, _Sir_ , if you had let me have even a _single day of shore leave_ ", Lark hissed, taking a step closer.

" _Good. The gloves are finally coming off"_ , Maxson thought to himself.

"You were supposed to do your _job_ , not waste a week on the ground for some petty celebration. Maybe if someone had _died_ , but not for just for your brother's _wedding_."

"... _How did you know I was requesting leave for my brother's wedding?_ "

Oops.

"All mail that comes in or out of the Brotherhood bases are moderated. You know that, or you wouldn't have gone through a third party!", he answered a little _too_ quickly.

"Yes, but last I checked, it was restricted for anyone outside of the Scribes designated to check that mail to read or listen to anyone's mail unless it was deemed dangerous!", she snapped back, connecting the dots.

"You... You've been organizing against me for _months_! You've been _trying_ to get me kicked out, haven't you?!", Lark accused.

For once, Maxson hesitated. Had he been? Maybe subconsciously. He _had_ been looking at her mail; he had a hunch she was hiding something, and something _big_. He wasn't wrong, she'd been in correspondence with the damned _synth_ Danse!

So... Why did he feel guilty? Why did his heart freeze at her accusation?

"You **bastard**!", she growled as she leapt at him and managed a punch to his right cheek.

Damn! How did he not see this coming?!

She went to land another punch in his stomach, but he dodged to the left and swept her off her feet with his leg.

He waited for her to get back up.

"What do you think you're _doing_ , Wendal?", he said in a steely voice.

"Don't you remember? **I'm not a soldier any more; I can kick your ass if I want to!** ", she shouted, once again jumping at him. This time he knocked her away with his elbow, and grabbed her by her wrist. He put his arm up so that his elbow was at her shoulder, and his fist was in front of her collarbone, forcing her up against the wall.

A snarl was on his lips as he looked into her face.

She was so, very angry.

And the room was very hot. Hazy, even.

So you could call it heat delirium, bad judgment, or even just plain stupidity that he decided to push a deep, intense kiss on her at that moment.

You could call it heat delirium, bad judgment, or just plain dumb luck that she kissed him back.

* * *

They lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling for what felt like _hours_ before either of them said a word.

Lark took a deep breath.

"Elder-"

"I think we're a little beyond 'Elder', Wendal", Maxson said without turning his head to face her.

"Maxson... What... happened?"

"We had sex", he replied a little angrily, raising a hand in emphasis.

"But _why_?! Why did we... Why _did you_? I thought you hated me", Lark asked again.

" _I_ thought _I_ hated _you_ ", she trailed off.

"Well, obviously, neither of us hates the other", Maxson answered, with a haughty yet uncertain air.

 _"At least... I think..."_ , he thought to himself.

Lark looked down at the floor, guiltily.

"I'm sorry", she said quietly, sitting up.

Maxson rolled onto his side and looked at her with confusion.

"Why are you sorry?", he said, the frustration ebbing from his tone. He took ahold of her arm; gently this time.

 _"He looks like a god damn puppy"_ , Lark mused.

He was so much less intimidating for some reason. It made no sense! What had just happened was by no means the 'tender, sweet romance' that she had always dreamed about, or read about in books-but it was by no means unemotional. It was the exact opposite. It was raw, primal... Almost carnal. But as scary as it sounded in hindsight, she felt totally safe. They had _both_ been in control, though it seemed like neither of them were. She had never really noticed herself having feelings for Maxson, but when she lunged at him, she immediately regretted it. Not because he was obviously stronger than her, and not because she had respected him for so long.

Because she didn't want to hurt him; not really. Of course, she'd figured that out far too late. His jaw had grown a light shade of purple, and was clearly swelling. She had an oblong, yellow bruise on her stomach, and a handprint on her wrist. He'd gotten it a little bit worse, since he hadn't been expecting any attack at all. There were other abrasions as well, though those came from... moments of passion.

Passion. It sounded funny in her head. When she'd thought of passionate escapades before, they'd always been so romanticized. By candlelight, a thunderstorm in the distance; or maybe in a cabin by the woods, thousands of fireflies lighting up thick fields of tall grass outside. Not even once had she envisioned it on a steel floor, cushioned by a military issued blanket. Not on a zeppelin, high over a Brotherhood Base. Not with a superior officer, not to mention the most superior officer she worked under.

And _absolutely_ not with Maxson.

"I'm not... I _won't_ be a whore, even if it _is_ to save my career in the Brotherhood", she replied firmly. She said it with a hint of spite, but she didn't break his light grip on her arm.

He hadn't been smiling, but his face fell just the same.

"That was never my intention. **THIS** _was never my intention_ ", he replied angrily.

"Wendal, you are insubordinate. You fight me at every order, every turn! It's impossible to get anything done with you constantly bending my commands and using loopholes to get around _exact_ orders!", he continued. He started to shout, but quickly resumed a quieter (yet harsher toned) volume.

Lark kept staring him in the face, eyes locked; cold steel against cold steel.

Maxson sat up as well.

" _But_ , you're one of the best we have in a fight, and we can't afford to lose you. I thought that I hated you. I thought that if I got you courtmarshalled, that you'd be gone and I wouldn't experience as many flashes of white-hot rage."

"And now?", Wendal asked in a monotone voice.

"And _now_... Now everything's changed. I'll figure something out."

His gaze hardened moreso, but she refused to look away. It was a battle of wills.

His nostrils flared, and he looked slightly more distraught though again the anger had mostly drained from his face.

"I'm not going to get rid of you. Not for the contact with _them_ , anyway. There's nothing incriminating in the tapes. Your brother's married, and your father's getting sick, and that's all there is to it. So no; you're career in the Brotherhood isn't over. Whatever the hell  _this_... _incident_ was, it's never happening again. Ever. So don't go on deluding yourself that you're trading sex for ranking. Nothing's changed in that facet; _at all_."


	2. Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight Wendal and Elder Maxson continue to meet each other for sex, growing more and more frequently. To both of their surprise and concern, they realize (separately) that they've begun to have genuine feelings for one another.

It wasn't even two months before the next 'incident', and it wasn't two _weeks_ until the next after that. What started out as one moment of unexpected attraction quickly spiraled into an almost frequent occurrence. But they were careful not to get caught.

It seemed that they were quick enough about it the first time (not to mention they tried their hardest to keep quiet) that suspicion was not aroused. Other clues were there, but in the context... Everyone knew how much Elder Maxson and Knight Wendal hated each other. They heard her get slammed against the wall and that was it. The only problem they ran into wasn't the bruises on Lark's arms, or the crescent-shaped red marks scattered around her body - she couldn't hide those when she went to bathe after all - it was Maxson's swollen jaw.

It had gotten a lot worse than a simple punch would have been. He put off seeing Knight-Captain Cade for a week and a half before he was finally dragged into sickbay. Cade was disappointed by Maxson's lack of cooperation. He'd thought that the 'fearless leader' thing would have eventually made him realize that he needed to take care of himself, but that never seemed to pan out. Especially now.

While the bruising had mostly faded by then, the swelling remained. In fact, it had gotten a little worse as time went on.

"Elder, please open your mouth.", he Cade asked, trying his best to be patient with his patient.

Maxson hesitated, but reluctantly did so.

_"Honestly. He can be so childish when it comes to doctors..."_ , Cade thought to himself. He'd only had the Elder in sickbay three times before now; once when he had a particularly nasty stomach bug, and the other two for broken bones.

This time wasn't so different, either. After a minute or two of poking around in front of his jaw, Cade confirmed that Maxson had sustained a fractured jaw.

He raised an eyebrow. He hadn't known of anyone who dared to assault the Elder without grave repercussions, and Maxson hadn't been landside for quite some time; two months at _least_. Maxson just stared at him.

"You have a fractured jaw. Thankfully, all I'll need to do is give you antibiotics. Does it hurt much?"

"No", Maxson replied.

_"Keeping it short and sweet as always, eh?"_ , Cade mused internally, before giving the swollen area a quick jab with his finger.

Maxson winced.

"I have some low-dose painkillers. The only thing that will actually help with the pain is opioids, though."

" **No opiods** ", Maxson said sternly.

"I thought not. Sir; how did you end up like this?", Cade asked nervously, afraid of insulting the Elder.

"Not a way that concerns you, Knight-Captain.", Maxson answered swiftly, almost uncharacteristically coldly.

_"Of course not."_

He gave Elder Maxson a small bottle of pills and let him go on his way.

Cade didn't say anything, but he knew how he'd gotten his jaw broken. Just the other day, Proctor Ingram had sent Knight Wendal to sickbay due to her noticing she was being particularly tender and careful about her stomach. Ingram had been concerned that Lark was pregnant, but it was just a particularly nasty bruise. She hadn't developed any serious problems along with the dark blue and purple oval, but Cade was suspicious when she said that she had gotten it from bumping into a table in the dining hall when drunk. At least Maxson didn't bother lying to him; he cut out the middleman and just flat out refused to tell him. He wasn't surprised that Wendal finally tried to get the jump on Maxson, but the fact that she was still on the Prydwen; still in the Brotherhood; still _alive_ , did.

Why didn't Maxson use the opportunity to get rid of her? Was it pride? Did he suddenly grow a conscience? Or, more confusing - was he protecting her from getting in trouble?

Luck was on their side, and Cade hadn't asked her to strip for an examination of her body. Soft bite marks would have given them away almost for sure, not that Maxson went unscathed, either.

Not that any of their meetings after that first time were particularly gentle, either. Wendel didn't really linger after the fact, either; never for more than a minute or two, and by no means for anything along the lines of pillow-talks or gentle caresses; nothing so romantic.

"Shit. Shit! _Shit_!", he seethed, hitting the floor under him with his fist before pulling away from Lark as quickly as possible.

She struggled to catch her breath while she watched him pull his hands over his face angrily. This was the second time it'd happened, and seeing this uncontrolled reaction from him didn't make her any less nervous than the first time did.

Their time together was always exciting, always passionate - and sometimes a little too so. He could be... forgetful. Not remember to pull away until it was too late. And Maxson took it hard, despite Lark being on medication.

Lark waited for him to calm down a little before touching his arm.

"It's okay...", she said softly, trying to console him without being too obvious about it.

"No, no; it really _isn't_ ", he replied harshly.

She didn't say anything, but she kept her hand on his arm, looking away ashamedly.

Maxson sighed a moment later, and rubbed her shoulder.

"I don't understand how you can be so _calm_ about it."

"I guess I just... I don't think I know why it doesn't. It just doesn't. I'm on a pill, and it's not as easy to get someone pregnant as you might think - especially someone who's endured two separate bullets to the stomach."

"Two? I only remember _one_ report about you getting shot in the stomach."

"... The first one was from a long time ago", Lark said hesitantly.

Maxson looked at her stomach. Sure enough there were two round scars, one shiny and pink - fairly new - and one that was a shade lighter than her skin - much, much older.

"How did you get it, anyway?", he asked casually, trying to play his genuine interest off as just conversation.

Lark looked at him and considered saying something about it. She could make up a story, or tell the truth - but she felt like she owed him more than just some colorful lie about drinking as a teenager back on her family's farm. And that worried her.

"I should go", she finally answered, reaching for her clothes and pulling them on quickly.

Maxson was disappointed. And that concerned him.

"Fine."

He watched her pull her hair back up into a ponytail and make her way to the door. It was late enough that there would be almost noone walking around nearby, and if she was careful she could make it look like she was coming from the Bridge, rather than Maxson's quarters.

"Wait-", Maxson called after her, as quietly as he could while still being heard, "Same time next week?"

Lark stood by the door, and considered his suggestion before nodding - like always.

Every week was like that now. She'd pretend that she actually had to think twice about it before jumping back into bed with him - or rather, since using the bed would make a lot of noise due to the springy mattresses and squeaky metal frame, the blankets and pillow that Maxson would have laid out for them every time he had her come around.

Lark was distracted on her way back to her bunk this time though; something was different. Something had changed since the first few times they'd gotten together. She had actually _considered_ telling him about that scar. She was actually _scared_ that if she told him how she got it, that he'd want nothing to do with her anymore. No more late nights. No more lightning-fast glances at each other's eyes when they were lined up and given orders. He wouldn't be the first man in the Brotherhood to pretend she didn't exist, and that what they did together didn't happen if he found out what had happened.

She felt a little sick. Frightened. She hadn't realized that she was comfortable when she was with Maxson now, or that she looked forward to their one-night-a-week with anticipation. When they were together, she felt like she'd never joined the Brotherhood. Like it was still 5 years ago, when everything in her life was more-or-less simple, and like she was still a young teenager. Smooth and happy and careless. Almost, anyway. Even though they were rough with each other, the last few times it felt more affectionate than just passion-in-passing. It felt like instead of going where he wanted, he took care to touch her where she liked best, in ways that made her shiver or gasp.

By the time she reached the showers, she had come to the conclusion that she was doing the exact same thing. She realized that often - and even would have today, had the scar not been brought up - when they had finished and lay on the floor immobile, she would massage his shoulders. They were always in knots, tense and taught, and she couldn't fix them completely in the few minutes they spent together before she left so as to not get caught. She found herself wishing she could finish the job just once, and had initial figured that it was because it's damn frustrating to not be able to finish doing something like that. But then she caught herself worrying about Maxson, and if he found relief from his sore muscles more than just a day or two before fucking his shoulders up again. She found that she no longer liked the thought of him in pain - not like _that_ anyway.

"Uh... Wendal? You okay there, buddy?", came a voice from two showers down.

Apparently she had been so deep in thought that her hand had been on the valve that operated the faucet for almost two minutes, and hadn't even noticed that there was someone else in the room.

Her head snapped towards them, finding a friendly face.

Knight Peter Gracie had actually been the one who had suggested she join the Brotherhood. Whenever he was sent to collect half her family's harvest, he'd spend some time talking with her brothers. All three of them had decided to be farmers for the rest of their life. "No offense, but the Brotherhood doesn't have the best of names around here. Besides, none of us have any inclination to go off and leave widows for an imaginary war", they would reply harshly, trying to get him off their father's land as soon as possible.

But Lark had payed attention. Whenever Knight Gracie came, she'd try to bide his time for just a few minutes. She was about 16, 17 by the time she'd successfully been recruited - much to her parent's displeasure. She had run away from home to join the Brotherhood; to seek her own glory, and to do more than supply tatoes and corn for the soldiers. When she was a little younger, she'd hoped that maybe  _he_ ' _d_ be the one she'd be sneaking off with every week. 

She'd already undressed and lathered up her hair with soap so as to not waste water, but she made no movement to cover herself. For starters, nudity wasn't exactly a shocking thing anymore, not as an army. And furthermore, Lark wasn't Gracie's type. Not voluptuous enough, and way too young for his blood. Add that to the fact that she was basically his little sister after helping her focus all of her potential and hone her skills into being the best and youngest onboard the Prydwen; next to Maxson himself, of course.

"Sorry, Gracie... Just... Distracted is all. Been thinking", she answered, turning the valve and letting a spray of hot water hit her face.

"Yeah? What's up kid?"

"Nothing I can't figure out myself. It's less of a problem, and more of a... Moral issue. I-I guess."

"Ugh,  _kid_. Don't even try to brush me off.  _Spill_!"

Lark remained silent, giving him a vacant look.

"Oh boy; we get to play the guessing game! I'm gonna ask five questions, and if you don't tell me what's going on by the fifth one, I'm just going to assume the worst and you'll have to deal with that. Is it a problem  _you_  are having?"

Lark sighed. 

" _Yes_ Gracie."

"Great. Is it an illness?"

"No."

"Is it a relationship thing?"

Lark stayed quiet.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes. Are you pregnant or something?"

"Okay, we're done. Bye, Peter!"

"Aww, c'mon! Why won't you tell me?!", Gracie complained, leaning with his arms over the side of the shower. 

"Nope! Not gonna happen!"

"Whose baby is it, Lark? Is it Knight Andrews? Scribe Julius? Oh! I've got it! It's Captain Kells!", he taunted.

"Augh, are you seriously 32?! You act like my 14 year old brother!"

Gracie faked a surprised face and clapped a hand to his cheek, pointing at her with a soapy hand. 

" _Oh my God, it's totally Maxson's!_ ", he joked. 

Lark didn't find it funny in the slightest.

"What the  _fuck_ , Peter?! Joke's going a little too far now!", Lark snapped at him.

He looked at her in shock. He didn't think that it was too much, she'd never had a problem with him making fun of her before.

"Jesus. Sorry, Lark... What's gotten into you?", he asked, genuinely concerned.

Lark let out a heavy sigh, and leaned with her hands on the wall in front of her, letting the water rinse her hair and body. She was silent for awhile.

"Let's just say I'm fucking someone I shouldn't be, and I'm developing feelings for them that I shouldn't", she finally replied, shutting off the valve and drying herself off.

"I've been there before, kid."

What?

"What do you mean?"

"A few years back, I wound up in a... I don't know what to call it. Relation-fuck-ship-thing, I guess. Lark, I gotta be straightforward with you; whoever it's with, it's not gonna end well. It didn't for me, and - sorry to say - but It won't for you."

Lark couldn't look him in the eye.

"What happened? I know that you're not with anyone now, and you weren't when you grabbed me off the farm."

"Oh! We got married. He wanted kids, and I wanted kids, and neither of us had the time to adopt any. Sure, there were these two cute lil' Squires that followed us around a lot, so it was sort of like a family. But we never had the time. Then one day, duty called, and he was killed in battle. Keep his holotags in my locker, if you wanna see."

"No... No, I believe you. Thanks, Peter", Lark said sadly, as pulled on her underwear and tanktop, leaving her uniform off. Bedtime afterall.

"Hey - that's not to say you can't keep fuckin' em'!", Gracie loudly said after her.

"Eat a dick, Gracie!"

"Who's we talkin' about? Because I'm feeling more "titty'-like lately, and there are only like, five guys on the Prydwen nowadays whose dicks are worth eating anyway."

" _And with the image of you sucking a dick in my head_ ,  _I think it's time for me to go_ ", Lark grimaced, walking away.

She very quietly got into her bunk, leaving her uniform and boots in her footlocker, and lay on her side.

After her 'appointment' with Maxson, she'd figured that dropping off to sleep would be easy - but it wasn't. Gracie's words bit deep into her, and she couldn't stop thinking about it. Not that she had even considered going  _that_ far with him, but the notion was... Pleasant. Yet alien. It made her stomach go cold, but she couldn't help but imagine having that life Gracie was talking about. Just a silly fantasy that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop imagining. Every time she tried to drift off, instead of to sleep, her mind would wander to that fantasy life.

An unstoppable military couple. It sounded perfect to Lark. 

* * *

Two hours after Lark had left the room, and Maxson still lay on the floor, watching the ceiling. Something was off. He cared deeply about all of his soldiers, and he had no trouble admitting to himself that Wendal was a  _damn_ good lay; but the way she looked when he asked about that scar... It worried him. More than worried - scared him. Something had clearly gone wrong in the past, something that made her reluctant to tell him how she got it. 

He finally got up from the floor and gathered up the pillow and blankets, throwing one dirty blanket into a basket to be cleaned. When he stretched his arm out to toss the rest on to his bed, his shoulders and biceps were taut against his skin, making them ache. Sharp but slight pain shot up and down his arms to his neck, and radiated down to his waist, making him gasp in pain. He cursed himself; he never should have inquired further about that bullet wound! He had really needed that backrub it seemed. 

He went for a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a small glass - help relieve the tension, help him to relax. He sat down on his bed, considering going for a shower himself; finally he decided for it. If he smelled the way he did in the morning,  _someone_ onboard would suspect something was strange.  _Everyone_ onboard the Prydwen knew the scent of sex, and he couldn't just lay in that smell all night - however much he wanted to just go to bed. " _Besides_ ", he thought to himself as he downed the last of his drink,"t _he hot water would do the muscles some good._ " 

He tried to let the water do it's job, taking as luxurious a shower as one could in 3 minutes, but if he relinquished control of his thoughts for even a second, all he could think about was Knight Wendal's scar. How the hell did she get it? How did she get  _any_ of the scars she had that didn't come from her 3 years of duty? All he could do was imagine scenarios in which she could have gotten them.

Maybe a group of Raiders attacked her family's farm, and while she was hiding with her younger siblings, someone --  _no_. Wendal wouldn't be cowering in a hayloft or in field of corn. She would be defending her home, alongside the rest of her family. 

Perhaps it was a childhood accident? Yes... Maybe she was being taught to shoot and -  _wait_. That's not like her. She'd be the one doing the teaching. Perhaps whoever it was she was showing how to shoot, accidentally shot her?

Maybe she had accompanied her brothers and father in a caravan to trade, and they were ambushed?

Or an animal had attacked her family's livestock?

That didn't seem right for her reaction though...

It must have been something darker. 

Maybe she was kidnapped, wounded, and had to kill her captor.

Maybe someone had tried to kill her.

Maybe someone had tried to kill one of her family, and she had jumped in the way of the bullet...

So many scenarios were flying around his head, and each one of them just made it harder for him to relax. Then it hit him.

What would happen if she were to die? It was unlikely; she was one of his best and brightest soldiers, and kept her power armor - and her body - in top condition. It would be incredibly difficult to get the drop on her. Not to mention that she wasn't some slender waif; she was strong and muscular. Not in a bulging or extreme way, but she could handle herself with ease, and - he knew from experience - could pack a punch. Her athletic figure was definitely a pleasure to look at, from the arch of her shoulders, to her handful-and-a-half breasts, to her toned waist and legs - she was almost perfectly his type. He'd always wondered about her hair though. She wore it at the maximum length a Brotherhood soldier was allowed, down to about the middle of her back at it's longest. It was a light, tawny brown that every time he saw her, was pulled up into a tight ponytail. He had never seen it completely dry, as it was always wet with sweat, even when she let her hair down when they were alone. 

He caught himself smiling as he imagined what it looked like clean and dry. With widened eyes, he realized that he wasn't just fantasizing about what they would do in their one-night-a-week; he was simply fantasizing about  _her_. About  _seeing_ her, about  _talking_ with her, about just  _being_ with her - and not in a merely sexual way. And even though he knew he needed to put an end to it, that the only way things would go back to normal would be to stop seeing her all-together - he didn't want to. He was going to keep seeing her. And maybe, someday soon this infatuation would pass - it had before - and they could both return to who they were before that first time; but by God he was going to justify this any way he could, for as long as he damn well pleased. 

And it looked like that would be awhile. 


	3. Say My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one little thing that's all their own - where they don't need to be infallible, or stoic. One little place where they can be a different person. What began as stress relief grew into something more - but the line needs to be drawn somewhere. Privacy is key.

"Say my name..."

"W-what?"

Lark was confused.

She opened her eyes and trained them as best she could in the moment on Maxson above her. His face was intense, and he seemed to have no trouble keeping his focus on her; he stared straight into her eyes, unblinking. Heavy breaths fell in and out from between his slightly parted lips. The warmth and rhythm between them made Lark quickly forget his request, though she remained looking into his face, mesmerized.

A sudden dull pain began to throb around her arms and she snapped back out of that ecstasy - he had tightened his grip on her.

"Say... My name...", he repeated in a stronger voice, lowering his head closer to hers but keeping his eyes locked on hers.

"M... Maxso- _ah_!", she began, and cried out in pain as he tightened his grip yet again.

She didn't understand.

"No... Say my _name_... Lark."

Clarity.

Lark closed her mouth and took a deep breath in through her nose, readying herself for what might come if she did speak again. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd played games like this. That was okay; she'd give back whatever she received. But deep down she knew that it wasn't a trick this time.

" _Arthur_...", she finally said, expecting it to come out in a puff of breath; but it was almost a whisper, and she nearly trembled when it passed through her lips.

It took them both a moment to process what had happened just then, Maxson making the realization first. It didn't hit Lark until Maxson had leaned in to kiss her - but again, it wasn't like normal. It was gentle, and deep. There were no teeth lightly biting into her lip, but it still held just as much fire. He rested his head against hers when they finally parted, and except for the sounds of labored breath and bliss, they didn't speak another word until they had both collapsed.

* * *

Instead of laying side-by-side on their backs, Maxson and Lark were facing each other, foreheads touching, Maxson's arms wrapped around Lark and Lark's hands placed on his chest. Neither of them were sure what to say or what to do, but for now they would enjoy the moment. Lark couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this happy about saying her lover's name, and Maxson couldn't remember _ever_ asking his to say his first name. She rested contentedly, more satisfied than ever before, and felt herself being pulled into sleep. It was just too perfect; but she knew that she would have to leave soon. She forced herself to stay awake, pulled her head away from his, and looked up at Maxson once again. His eyes were just barely open, but he was watching her regardless.

Lark couldn't stop herself from smiling at him, and he felt his heart jump. He didn't mind the sensation.

He smiled back pleasantly, a look that was a little out of place on his face. Usually when he smiled it was to convince those he was speaking to that he was sympathetic towards them - and by God, he did convince them. But this was a completely different kind of smile. He seemed... happy. Honestly happy.

She could relate.

But how long had they laid there? Glowing and smiling like a pair of teenagers? Lark knew that it had been too long already, and she would have to leave soon.

She let out a sigh and wiggled a little, trying to decide whether she should stay on the floor with him, or get up and leave. Maxson pulled her closer to him, though only a little.

Lark looked up at him and moved a hand to the crevice of his neck.

"I have to go...", she whispered, disappointedly.

Maxson changed the way his arms were wrapped around her, using his elbows to pull her closer still, chest to chest, and lightly tracing her spine with his left hand.

She shivered.

"I know", he replied quietly, mere millimeters away from her face.

Lark ran her fingers through the stubbly hair on the back of his head and sighed.

"I don't want to", she continued with a heavy breath exaggerating the I.

Maxson kissed her again, just as gently and slowly as before.

"You have to though", he said a few moments after parting.

Lark sighed again, pressing her forehead against his once more.

"Lark... Do you _really_ want people to start talking? Everyone would doubt any of the achievements or promotions you've earned - or ever _will_ earn", he started to explain, beginning to untangle himself from Lark.

"And - I can't believe I'm saying this...", he paused, trying to find the words.

"Whatever this is, I want it to be private. Away from everyone else, and away from whatever happens outside of this room, and away-"

"Away from the Brotherhood?", Lark spoke in hushed voice.

Maxson looked at her with mild shock. It was, of course, what he meant; but he dared not say it.

Lark sat herself up, propped up on one arm, the other still caressing Maxson's head and neck. She nodded in agreement.

"I know."

She smiled.

"It's ours."


	4. The 'Goodnight' Before the 'Goodbye'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more is told about the uprising against the Brotherhood in the Commonwealth - and Lark and Maxson have a final night before she is deployed with four others to take out a cell of this so-called 'Boston Rebellion'.

Seven months. Seven months together, and they still _were_ together. If anyone knew about them, they'd see that it was a lot more than what they were calling it. Certainly they knew that it wasn't something casual anymore; it was more than just sex after that night. Of course, they couldn't see each other every night, and couldn't spend more than a few hours together at the very most. Still, even the time spent in silence was welcomed and relaxing.

It was still, for the most part, one night a week; but they had weathered out the first few months of infatuation. They were fine with that they couldn't spend every other night on the floor of his quarters - so long as they still got that one night a week.

Sometimes even that one night wasn't manageable, not even for a few minutes. Someone was getting drunk with some friends in the mess (Lark would always join up if that were the case, making it look like she'd caught wind of whatever celebration was occurring rather than making her way to Maxson's quarters), she'd been assigned some graveyard shift duty or another, one or the other would be needed landside.

And - sometimes - the distance was welcome due to a fight. Falling in love didn't somehow magically change Maxson's position on synths or ghouls - though he'd softened somewhat towards ghouls after being regaled about Lark's time on her family's farm - and it didn't make Lark any more complacent about doing something questionable according to her personal code.

Maxson had learned that she would be particularly pissed at him and/or orders given to her if the word 'Sir' came out when speaking to each other directly, or without a reason to be so formal. And he had learned that she would be particularly affectionate if 'Arthur' was used - the same could be applied to Lark for Maxson.

But it was exciting and different.

And even though they knew it was coming, they couldn't help but feel disheartened when Lark was given orders to meet up with a squad on the ground to go after the Brotherhood's current enemy #1.

Relations between the Brotherhood and the Commonwealth were not getting any better. What was worse was that the small group of people hell bent on making the Brotherhood presence leave had grown substantially since they had first arrived - naming themselves 'The Boston Rebellion'. When Maxson had first received notice that they had grown and expanded their little 'resistance', he'd snorted at the name. "Melodrama is their only real tactic they've got!", he'd said.

But then the attacks began. Stations were being raided. Soldiers were being ambushed. And the once insignificant group had obviously resorted to more desperate, cut-throat means.

They were hiring Raiders; not just Raiders, but the occasional Gunner group to take out the landside squadrons.

Maxson was troubled by their seeming insanity. They clearly wanted the Brotherhood _out -_ and he had underestimated them. Now he needed his best soldiers to take out a resistance cell - found due to careful recon and informants outside of the Brotherhood.

And Knight Wendal was one of those 'best soldiers'.

Wendal, Gracie, and three others - Scribe Marshall, Knight Spalding, and Scribe Belman were apart of the squad compiled to take down this cell. As far as they knew, it was a minor group within the Rebellion; but they were taking what they could get. At this point, any Raider groups they came across were to be taken out as well - they were a possible threat to the Brotherhood, as well as a constant threat to the citizens of the Commonwealth.

To make matters worse, Paladin Amelia had been short lived. She had immediately abandoned the Brotherhood after destroying the Institute. She had not betrayed them - and as far as they were able to figure out, she was not affiliated with the Rebellion.

She had left some kind of a curse on the title of Paladin when she left; one after the other, 3 Paladins died after only a short time of being Paladin.

And Gracie was the latest in the line of Commonwealth Paladins. He was older than most, at about 35 years old; but he was a large man, grizzled and bulging with muscle. All he'd ever known was the Brotherhood, and (unbeknownst to him) Maxson recognized it.

Of course, it helped that Wendal had gotten a few other Knights to all submit formal recommendations of Knight Gracie, herself included. Not to mention she spoke of his ability and determination in private as well.

When Maxson told Lark that she would be accompanying them in the attack, her mouth went dry. She was elated to be apart of something _that_ important, but she felt her stomach clench at the uncertainty. This was an important mission, but it was also incredibly dangerous.

"I need my best men out there. That includes you", Maxson said to Lark, alone in his quarters.

"I can't be biased about who I send down-"

"Aren't you being biased by saying I'm one of the best?", Lark smirked, lightly pulling on the collar of his coat to straighten it out - even though she knew that within 10 minutes it would be on the floor.

"You're not _really_ going to make me say it?", Maxson replied, bemused.

Lark merely grinned and nodded. What looked like she was being overly excited was actually her being nervous. But she wasn't going to tell Maxson that.

"Fine", he said with a smile, wrapping his arms around her lightly, hands above her tailbone.

"You have a specialty in ballistics, and even though for the first year you were aboard the Prydwen everyone constantly tried to get you to use the laser-based weapons that everyone else uses, you kept at it until you got good enough to be considered an expert. And considering that you somehow convinced another Knight to let you shoot a cup out of their hand - _whilst drunk_ of course - and managed to do it without damaging the idiot's hand, that you are a damn good shot. So, yes, Knight Wendal; you are one of my best", he said matter-of-factly, pretending to be annoyed by her frivolity.

"I love that you still do that", Lark said happily.

"Do what?"

"Even after everything that's happened between us, you still sound so pissy whenever you're forced to say something nice about me."

"I got used to it. It's how we interact", he replied, tightening his hold on her, "Well, on a professional level anyway."

He smiled at her, a soft suggestive smirk, and kissed her briefly.

"Besides, it's not true for the most part."

"Oh?"

"You have - for example - an impressive kill ratio, and you're not even 21 but you're already going to be on a high-priority mission."

"Oh, you can do better than that!", Lark giggled.

Maxson thought for a moment, looking into her eyes.

"The stories about your family farm are part of what I look forward to most when we meet up."

"Yeah?", Lark said in a sultry voice as she rubbed his shoulders,"What do you look forward to the most?"

"I look forward to _this_."

He lowered his right hand to hold her ass.

"And _this_."

He raised his left hand under her tank top and rested it on her side, his thumb brushing the side of her breast.

"And _this_ especially."

He kissed her again, deeply and heavily.

Maxson shrugged off his coat.

* * *

Lark lay with her head on Maxson's chest, satisfied and pleasantly exhausted. Her mind was numb, but in the back of her mind was the niggling reminder that in a day or two, she would be gone for - at the very least - a few weeks. She kept her eyes on the rise and fall of his chest as they both let their bodies relax and their muscles unravel. Without looking at his face, she spoke.

"I'm thinking about taking shore leave after this assignment", she said quietly, knowing that he would be disappointed.

He stayed silent for awhile, and Lark noticed that his breathing became a bit more sharp, as if he were contemplating something unpleasant.

"How long exactly?", he finally spoke.

"A week, maybe a little more."

His breathing remained shallow.

"Before you refuse or accept the request, I want to ask you something; how long has it been since _you yourself_ had shore leave?"

Maxson was struck. Where was she going with this?

"A few years, I suppose. It doesn't bother me; my place is here. There's simply too much to do to take a break."

"Arthur, if this mission is a success, then there will be a lot less to worry about. You'd be able to take a break. No one would be the wiser either, since is looks like everyone's still under the impression that I'd cut your throat if I was given a reason to."

Maxson was uncomfortable with the notion of shore leave, but his mind couldn't help but consider how nice it would be.

A whole week - just himself and Lark and wherever they decided to be - to themselves.

But part of himself was worried. Was he indulging too much - with this whatever it was with Lark? He'd certainly been in a better mood, and despite his attempts to hide it from his subordinates, a few of them had noticed he was less tense than normal. But then again, didn't he deserve this kind of happiness? He'd devoted his life to the Brotherhood. And as uncharacteristic as it was, Lark's plan was sounding better and better.

"You're getting to be an influence on me, you know that, Lark?", he replied, kissing the top of her head.

"Is that a yes?"

"That's an 'I'll think about it'."

Lark knew it was a yes.

She grinned and rolled on top of him to be face to face.

"Thank you", she mouthed, leaning in for a kiss.


	5. Hard Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lark's team is deployed and their mission is begun and completed. A few familiar faces are seen and disappointed.

"Field Report No. 1, Knight Lark Wendal reporting. Squad 1 meet up on ground at the Airport, and we were led to a site three miles away from the possible Rebellion cell by Paladin Gracie. After finding a place to camp, clearing out a few lingering ferals, and checking perimeter to make sure all was well, we set up camp at casualties. No complications have arisen so far, equipment and supplies are all accounted for. Knight Wendal out."

Lark stopped the recording device and popped the fresh holotape out. Things were surprisingly uneventful - a fact that was already making Gracie and Scribe Belman a bit on edge. Both Gracie and Belman had been in the Brotherhood most their lives, and in their experience things rarely went well if they ran as smoothly as things were going now. But it was truly too soon to tell for certain.

"You just finish up the first report there, kid?", Gracie asked as he entered Lark and Spalding's tent.

"Yeah. I mean, it's late enough in the day that I wouldn't worry about anything changing tonight. I'll get this sent out first thing tomorrow, Palad-"

"Don't you 'Paladin' me!"

"Sorry Gracie."

Gracie kept his eyes trained on her with a stern look.

"Peter, c'mon. You didn't really come here just to get told something you obviously already know, right?", Lark continued, growing impatient.

"Jesus. You're no fun anymore, you know that? No, I didn't just come to get an affirmative on that. I came to give you a heads up on Marshall."

"What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ Belman made the mistake of getting Marshall's annoying ass just a little too tipsy, and now the man's talking nonstop about how he wants in your jumpsuit. Not that this is _news_ , he's been saying he'll make a move on you any day now for a few weeks, but i'd still want to pay attention to the guy."

"Okay? Thanks for the advice, Gracie, but I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"I'm not telling you this to keep you safe! I know as well as you do that you could kick his ass from here to the Prydwen if he tried anything funny. I'm telling you so you can _think_ about taking him up if he offers to take things slow with you."

" _Why_?!"

" _Because_ I know you Lark, and I know that whoever it was you were seeing, you're _still_ seeing; and I think it would help you stop being so damn preoccupied with whoever they are."

Lark fell silent. There was no way in _hell_ that she was going to do anything with Marshall of all people. He was arrogant, cocky, narcissistic, and acted like a 12 year old when Maxson wasn't around. The worst part was that he had _reason_ to be that way. He had serious skill with a laser pistol, and was her technological equivalent in that regard; but she couldn't stand being alone with him. Sure he was okay in a group, and maybe even funny if he was drunk enough. But he was nowhere near and _would never_ come close to Maxson.

"Fine. I'll think about it."

And she _would_ think about it - just not _consider_ it.

Gracie gave her a discrediting look.

"I mean it Lark. It's not healthy, doing what you're doing. Someone's bound to find out who it is some day, and if whoever they are really is as inappropriate to be banging as you say they are, one or both of you is going to get in some serious trouble."

"With all due respect, Gracie, maybe you should focus more on the _mission_ and less on _my_ _lovelife_ ", Lark said in a calm voice.

That made Gracie all the more displeased with her.

As he turned to leave the tent, he looked over his shoulder at Lark with a look that teetered between anger and disappointment.

"You know what Lark? You sound like _Maxson_ ", he said coldly.

Lark's heart skipped a beat and jumped into her throat. She was almost going to stop him from leaving when she realized that he didn't know anything about them; that comment had been meant to insult her, not threaten her. And _that_ made her lower her eyes to her hand, wrapped around the day's report, ashamed of herself. But it wasn't Gracie's choice. It wasn't his life to live, and regardless of whether or not he had a similar relationship when he was a younger man that had ended in tragedy, she wasn't going to give it up so easily.

With a dismissive sniff, she stood up and left the tent as well to give the holotape to one of the three additional Scribes that had been brought along to run reports back to the Prydwen and do research, as well as scope out nearby areas for supply locations. It was a short report, and though two of the group were uncomfortable with uneventful reports, she was all for a smooth mission.

* * *

The third day, Lark left the report to one of the extra Scribes. Why? Because they had finally gotten a personal confirmation of the location they were to take out, and were going in that day.

Gracie was still pissed at her, but didn't say a word as Lark helped him with his combat armor - not because he didn't feel it right to discuss private issues in public, but because ignoring people was his way of letting them know that they fucked up, and he expected them to set things right. He glared at her for a moment after helping her strap on her chest piece, and she simply stared back at him, emotionless.

The tension had been noticed by the others for certain at this point, and for once Marshall didn't make an ass of himself. Not at first, anyway.

After checking their armor and weapons twice more, packing up a few field rations, and Gracie gave the scribes left to watch the camp a stern talking to. Belman told them to keep the wild parties to a minimum.

They crept through the heavy weed growth surrounding the entrance to the Rebellion bunker, surprisingly silently for a group of 5 people who were strapped, weighed down with armor, **and** packing heat. There was no more tension; no anger from Lark nor nervous energy vibrating within Marshall who was the newest to it all of the 5. They knew how important it was that they pulled this off.

Secure information on the rest of the bunkers, the one running the show at that bunker, and kill anyone who tried to stop them.

Gracie held a hand up, prompting the team to stop moving. They were close now - close enough to see an oil lamp burning outside the door and a young man sitting in front of it, himself and a can of beans illuminated by the lantern. Gracie scanned the rest of the area, taking great care to discern every moment and shape in the darkness, and finally nodded to Lark. It was her turn now.

She lay on the ground and quietly unfolded the legs of her rifle, aiming it carefully at the guard's head. She could see his face clearly in the magnifier. He was young, maybe even a little younger than herself; about 18, with a few circular scars on his forearm and a scraggly blonde beard on his chin. The kind teenage boys grow when they first become able to. Lark made sure that the shot hit _exactly_ where she wanted it to go, and pulled the trigger. A _crack_ left no echo behind in the air as he suddenly fell back onto the concrete wall behind him. She made _sure_ his death was quick.

Lark made another visual sweep of the area through the scope, and once she had become convinced that no one had heard and no one was coming out of the bunker, she looked back up at Gracie and solemnly nodded to him as she folded up the legs of her gun and put it back in it's carrier on her back. She slid the 10 mm. on her legstrap out of it's holster as they advanced on the bunker once again.

"Okay, they're most likely expecting us _but on the off chance they're not_ \- I need you to be _silent_. Be quiet, careful, and if anyone spots you, you make _them_ silent instead. Understood?", Gracie commanded in a whisper, giving each soldier around him an equal portion of a stare that said " _you'd god damn **better** understand_".

"Alright then. Move out!"

* * *

That stealth plan only lasted for a few minutes. Captain Confidence did what he was best - at aside from shooting a laser - and blew their cover. He sped too far ahead of the others, and went past a door he failed to notice. An _open_ door. The Rebel inside wasted no time in shouting and warning their fellows. Gracie was furious, but there was no time to shout himself. A brief flash of light and it was over, and Gracie snapped his head towards Marshall with an angry glare as red as his laser's beam. Marshall had frozen in place. All of them had frozen. They were waiting to see who - if anyone - came for them. There was no telling how deep this bunker went, or how many Rebels were swarming the dank hallway.

The bunker was clearly Pre-War military; perhaps for supply or storage. But considering the location, it was more than likely used for exactly what the Rebellion was using it for now - as a secret base.

They stood there, silent, for a spine-tingling moment, waiting for a sound - any sound - to emerge down the hallway or out of a closed steel door. When the first shot resounded off the curved walls, and the voices and footsteps accompanying it bounced past them it was a hot second before Gracie gave up all tactic.

" _Fine!_ ", he shouted to his team, " _Fuck sneaking up on the bastards, let's just bulldoze them!_ "

He charged towards the cluster of Rebels headed towards them. There were five of them and seven in that group, and while the Rebels had them outnumbered, they were definitely outmatched. Most of them were mercs and farmers, with only two of them having decent weapons or armor. Lark picked two off from the get-go, the minute they came close enough she could get a good shot with her pistol. Gracie took down three more, getting up close and personal with the attackers and even shooting a raider with her own gun after she tried to hit him from behind. Belman and Spalding both took their own shots and hit the other two, though they couldn't tell who killed which one. Not that it mattered.

And Marshall hadn't even so much as aimed his gun before he was shot himself. A pair of bullets whizzed past his head and grazed his ear, pulling a piece of the cartilage at the top with it. Perhaps if he had flinched to touch his ear, the third bullet wouldn't have gone through his bicep. His gun clattered to the ground as he himself let out a short harsh yelp. He could lick his wounds later though - now he needed to help his team. A piece had loosened from the recycled plastic that covered the circuitry of his gun, and he banged it back into place - but by then the group headed towards them had been taken care of. He didn't need to worry about _them_ at this point; he needed to worry about _Gracie_.

He was certain that Gracie was going to shoot him himself, but all he did was reload.

"Marshall...", Gracie said with a sigh.

"Y-Yes, Sir?", Marshall stammered.

"I guess you're staying here. You're no good to me if you can't fight - _or so much as fucking pay attention to your surroundings_."

The team left Marshall in the doorway in a hurry, with only Belman hesitating a little. She worried about what Gracie was going to do to him when the mission was over, but she agreed with what he had said. She wasn't sure why Maxson had put someone so green on this team. Sure he was a phenomenal shot, she had seen him do amazing things with even an unmodded laser pistol - but he clearly hadn't been in a lot of actual combat. It would be best to leave him behind. A stimpak and his arm would be good to go, though he'd have a chunk of lead in his bicep for the rest of his life - or he could wait until the attack was over and get someone to dig the bullet out. Either way, he was useless in confrontation, and this was too important to let this be a teaching mission. Gracie would have words with Maxson when they got back, he vowed that much.

As they jogged along the corridor, they didn't come across any more groups. It seemed that the bunker was thinly stocked - or everyone was at the end of that tunnel.

"Try to keep an eye out for someone who looks like they're higher up. Probably have better weapons or _something_ to show they're higher up than the rest", Gracie told the team as they raced along, stopping only when they came to a split hallway. It looked like they were getting close to the end of the tunnel, and they could hear the generator powering all the lights _thoom_ -ing away nearby.

Gracie only took a moment to decide what to do.

"Belman, you're with me. Wendal, take Spalding and go left. Find or find out who's running this place, and meet back up!", he commanded, and took off with Belman in tow through the right corridor.

Lark nodded towards their hallway and they started down it at once, Spalding slightly behind her.

Theirs was the shorter of the two, and it clearly wasn't the way toward the center. They had swept every room along the way, finding nothing but a few tato farmers - one of which she knew. But he didn't hesitate to let off a round, so she didn't bother trying to keep him alive, and put one between his eyes.

"Someone you knew, girl?", Spalding asked, her voice rough from 20 odd years of smoking.

Lark blinked down at the man, recognizing him only from Bunker Hill. He'd never helped her family or anything and vice versa - but it was still disappointing to see someone she could recognize.

"Sort of. Farmer from the middle of the Commonwealth. Family knew him in passing. He always seemed like the kind of idiot that'd get caught up in something like this. C'mon, let's go; we've still got a bit of ground to cover", she answered, trying to be dismissive.

Spalding shrugged and followed her.

There were no more rooms until the very end of the hallway. There was no door; simply a sheet of burlap hanging from a archway off to the right. Lark lifted the flap to the side ever so slightly, paying close attention to any movement inside the room. It was dark in there, only a small light glowing from a patch of fungus in the corner. It looked like where they bunked, with a few beds and a mattress laying on the ground. But there were more people there than there were beds. Which meant that this was either one of a a couple rooms, or-

Movement interrupted Lark's processing of the room, and someone slashed at them from behind the burlap with a machete, hacking again with a backslash on through way through the doorway. Lark moved her arm closer to the gash instinctively, but aimed her gun at her attacker, who was clearly visible now. It was an older woman, maybe 50 years old, with wiry, curly grey hair and a what seemed like a permanent scowl etched in her face, judging from the lines around her mouth. Lark was surprised enough to lower her gun, and the woman took the opportunity at that very second. The old woman had Lark from behind, her machete held close to Lark's throat as she knocked Lark's gun out of her hand. The back side of the blade was dull enough that it would hurt like hell if she got a chance to slit her throat. The old woman finally turned her gaze towards Spalding, and Lark saw her knuckles go white as she gripped the machete tighter. Lark was itching with anticipation. What the hell was Spalding doing?! She had expected Spalding to shoot the woman by the time they could really see her, and yet Spalding was just standing with her mouth agape and her gun held in front of her.

" _June_!", the grizzled old woman spat angrily.

" _Mama_...", Spalding whispered in confusion, " _Mama what-_ "

"DON'T _YOU **DARE** ASK ME WHY I'M HERE! I'M HERE TO DEFEND WHAT'S OURS; WHAT THE HELL ARE **YOU** DOING HERE, WITH A GUN TRAINED AT YOUR OWN MAMA NO LESS?!_", she roared back.

She removed the blade from Lark's throat and grabbed her tightly just under her shoulders, turning her around to face her.

"And who the hell is _this_? You bring me a grand-daughter?"

She looked down at the rest of Lark and her eyes widened at the Brotherhood insignia.

"Lord I _hope_ not...", she said pulling her head back in disgust, turning it again to look at her daughter with suspicion.

Another look of shock passing over her face told that she now realized her daughter was wearing the exact same combat armor, and when she felt it, all she did was turned her head slowly to look at the man who had just clapped his hand over her shoulder from behind her.

"You Mama Spalding?", Gracie asked.

"Oh... Oh _June_... What have you _done_?", Mama Spalding whispered as she dropped her weapon and limply let Gracie put her hands behind her back.

Spalding heightened her gaze to offer Gracie the same look of confusion as before.

"I'm sorry June. I truly am", Gracie replied, looking her in the eyes to prove he meant it.

"It seems that your ma here has a lot of pull in the 'Rebellion'. She helps _run_ it, June."


	6. No Secrets Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lark, Spalding, and Gracie assist Spalding's mother back to the base. Maxson wants to know if everything happened exactly as Paladin Gracie says.

Spalding and her mother sat across from each other in complete silence on the Vertibird pickup later that day. She was too valuable a prisoner to risk escape or being freed, and Gracie called in a Vertibird first thing after they left the bunker. Only the Spaldings, Gracie, and Lark boarded – this was just too good of a situation to uproot their camp just yet. Hidden documents, perhaps even survivors to be interrogated still needed to be found, and it was a given that there would be at least _something_ else of importance to their operation. Of course, the best way to find those hidden objects would be to get Mama Spalding to talk.

There was a fat chance of that happening. The woman was clearly hardened, from the rough, raspy way she spoke to her scar and freckle ridden skin. She reminded Lark of her own father, which on any other occasion would have made her laugh a little; but the way Mama Spalding's eyes stayed on June and seemingly dug into her mind like spikes sent shivers down Lark's spine. June simply clutched her knees with clammy hands and tried to ignore the daggers her mother was shooting her, an act that was clearly to no avail. All twenty minutes of the flight back to the Airport were agonizingly solemn for everyone aboard, and the silence was deafening under the loud shrill hum of the engines.

Maxson was waiting on the tarmac for them all. Gracie hopped out of the vertibird before it even hit the ground and quickly scrambled at attention. Lark couldn't hear what he was saying, but from the subtle excitement in Maxson's face (a trait that _most_ of the soldiers under his orders never discovered) she could tell that he was more intrigued than he was worried. As the vertibird slowly landed, June and Lark both attempted to hold Mama Spalding by the shoulders and help her down - she shrugged June's hands off of her and turned her head away from her daughter in disgust. Spalding stood with her hands gently above her mother's arm in shock. All Lark could do was offer her a sympathetic look as Gracie helped the old woman down.

* * *

Lark and Maxson agreed to meet in the Airport ruins late that night. Lark was the first to arrive, and though the crumbling building offered privacy and secrecy, the smell of rot and decay was less than romantic. Still, she knew that this wasn't likely to be a particularly romantic meeting anyway. She took this alone time as an opportunity to think about where she wanted to go on her off-time. She kicked a piece of rubble away from her idly, as she walked towards the far wall by the elevator and leaned her back against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position. She let out a heavy sigh - not one of boredom, but of intense contemplation - and laid her head on the wall, closing her eyes.

It had been a long, long day for _everyone_ involved, and even though she knew that Spalding would resent her if she found out, but Lark couldn't help but pity her. Pity her _and draw parallels_ , that is. When she left her home, her brothers were furious, her parents were weeping, and even her closest friend growing up on the farm couldn't look at her as she left. He had just stared at the ground, not even daring to look up at her.

That was different though. Her family still loved her, even though they didn't agree with her choice. They got over it once she'd made it clear she would still hold the same opinions of right and wrong even after she became a Knight. June's family had obviously been so staunchly against the Brotherhood that she didn't even tell them that she had joined the Brotherhood of Steel. But then, what _had_ she been telling them? Surely a woman doesn't disappear into the Capitol Wastes for years on end without her family taking notice. Was it just Spalding's mother out there in the world for her? Had she been so preoccupied that she hadn't noticed her daughter vanish? But, from Mama Spalding's reaction, she didn't seem absolutely shocked to see her alive. Maybe Spalding hadn't vanished, but rather, had been lying to her? What kind of a life is that?

Lark was so swept up in thought that she didn't hear anyone enter the ruins, and didn't even realize she wasn't alone until a rough hand touched her shoulder as gently as it could, sending her out of her half-slumber with a jolt. She wrenched her eyes open and felt her heart skip a beat, expecting to have been discovered for being careless enough that she fell into a daydreaming state - but it was only Maxson, and not anyone unexpected.

Her head shot up and she grasped for her heart, only mildly calming once she realized it was Maxson.

"Were you here long?", he asked, a bit more stiffly than usual.

"I'm not sure. I think I drifted off", Lark replied, rubbing an eye with her palm.

Maxson nodded and, instead of helping Lark up, sat down beside her. A show of empathy, Lark guessed. She wondered why.

"I've been briefed by Paladin Gracie, but i'm not sure he's telling me everything out of respect for Spalding. You were with her when she was captured. Tell me what _you_ saw."

Lark's stomach tightened a bit. She'd expected him to ask her to do something like this earlier on in their so-called relationship, but not now. And while she knew that Spalding did nothing wrong, it made her a little panicky that he was asking her to do something like this. It made her even moreso when she realized that she'd probably tell him, anyway.

"After a bit of recon, we attacked the base. It was a little too easy, they weren't well armed _or_ decent fighters - though Knight Marshall didn't do a damn thing to help. He charged in, ruined plan A, and then got himself shot twice. We left him behind. Gracie said he was no good to us if he wasn't going to follow orders. Gracie ordered us to sweep the rooms, and once we were finished with that we ended up walking for a short while. That place is long, and I guarantee that there were a couple of caches or hidden rooms that we missed. We came to a fork in the hall, Gracie and Belman went right, Spalding and I went left. We found a room that appeared to be a bunk at the end of our hall, and I moved a piece of cloth aside to look in. Mama Spalding is good at her job; she snuck up on the other side, and I didn't realize until I had a nasty cut on my arm."

Lark blushed, ashamed.

"She grabbed me, machete to my throat, and used me as a shield before she realized her daughter was the one with a gun on her. Spalding... She was stunned. She definitely was not expecting to see her mother there. Neither was her mother expecting to see _her_. She kept her talking for awhile; Mama Spalding didn't even seem to notice the Brotherhood symbol painted across her chest. Not until Gracie popped up behind her after she let me go, anyway. We dragged her back, and Spalding really seemed to take it hard. That's what happened."

Maxson took a moment to search his mind for questions.

"That's everything? You're sure?", he asked.

Lark gave him a look.

"Well, aside from Gracie trying to fix me up with Marshall of all people, yes. I wouldn't omit things with you."

Maxson furrowed his brow and snorted, smirking somewhat.

"I bet he stopped after Marshall made an ass out of himself."

"Well, he didn't mention it again, but then we were trying to take care of a delicate situation."

"I wasn't aware that Paladin Gracie was in the habit of playing matchmaker for his subordinates."

Lark looked away, somewhat guiltily.

"He's basically family. Trying to make me happy, I guess. Apparently I've been detached lately; he was trying to get me to connect with someone more ah... _appropriate_."

Maxson's light smile faded.

"What do you mean by "more appropriate"?"

"He sniffed out that I've been _around_ someone, and since I refused anything was happening, and then refused to tell him who it was, he assumed that it's someone higher up on the chain than myself."

"Lark, does he know _how much_ higher up?"

"I doubt it. You're not exactly known for getting close to every Knight on base."

"You shouldn't have said anything", he responded, throwing up a hand as it rested on his knee.

He was clearly agitated.

"Maxson, I _swear_ that it's not that big a deal. Hell, I can guarantee that he doesn't know anything. He... said something that leads me to believe that", Lark said, positioning herself on her knees so she was facing him now.

She touched his arm, and he looked back at her, quizzically.

"What did he say?", he asked more calmly.

Lark opened her mouth, but couldn't quite get the words out. She had no illusions about the nature of her partner, but she also didn't want to upset him more. She didn't even know if it _would_ upset him.

She took a breath.

"He said _"You know what? You sound like Maxson."_ when I told him to mind his own business instead of my lovelife", Lark told him, and rubbed his arm in small motions, trying to soften the blow to his ego.

Maxson considered it for a second, and looked at Lark's face. He saw that she was concerned - for _him_ nonetheless - and perhaps that was why he, instead of being outraged that he was being used as an insult, grinned and held back a laugh.

" _Hm_!", he said, keeping his mouth tightly closed lest he cracked up completely.

Lark stared at him.

"Alright. Not how I thought that was gonna go", she admitted, tilted her head to the side and pulling herself closer to him.

"No, no. It's just... _Ironic_."

"Okay, my turn to ask questions. Why is it ironic?", Lark smiled back at him.

"I confess, I... _May_ have slipped up just a little bit, too. A Scribe accidentally used a holotape holding a semi-important mission brief from a few years ago to make a memo, and erased it. I let him go without much more than a slap on the knuckles, and later I overheard him go to another Scribe " _Is it just me, or is the Elder less angry these days?"_. So much for _getting to be_ an influence on me", he told her, kissing the top of her head.

Lark held her breath for as long as she could, but ended up coughing out a chuckle.

" _Oh my God no! What- What did his face look like_?!"

Maxson's face went blank, and a look of absolute disbelief washed over him for about 4 seconds before he ended up letting out that suppressed laugh, perhaps just slightly _too_ loudly.

Lark put her hand over her mouth, and Maxson could tell she was beaming beneath it. Her face was red, and her cheeks ruched up below her eyes. He couldn't help but give a toothy smile back.

"He damn near soiled himself when he told me his mistake!", he sighed, once again gaining control of himself.

Lark lay her head on his shoulder, and he instinctively lay his on her head, taking her hand in his. He thought again of what she would look like without the grime on her face or the bloodstained uniform. He felt all the more guilty.

"Arthur?", Lark piped up, her eyes closed sleepily.

"Hmm?", he responded, looking down at their clasped hands.

"What's going to happen to Scribe Spalding's mother?"

Maxson hesitated. Once more the tables had turned; he didn't want to upset _her_.

"... She's going to be interrogated."

"Who's doing it?"

He remained silent.

Lark pulled away from him to look at his face.

"Oh."

"I don't like putting my people through things like this; but her mother has _extremely_ important information. Scribe Spalding...", Maxson paused and sighed,"Spalding is the most likely person to get results from her."

" _Oh_."

Lark sat in stunned silence. She want to be angry with him. She wanted to scream at him for even _thinking_ of putting her friend through something like interrogating her own mother. She wanted to... But she understood his reasoning. He was right. And she _didn't_ want that.

" _Lark_. You're her friend, aren't you? She's... She's going to need support. From those she trusts. I'm asking that you give her that until the interrogation either succeeds... Or fails", Maxson asked of her, his hesitations more searching for words than sentimental.

She was taken aback. She'd read the log that the good doctor had written about Proctor Ingram. She'd seen what Maxson had said several years ago, about how her mental state was not more important than what they were trying to achieve. He'd never seemed to care about their psyche's before; this was certainly a change. And she realized that he hadn't been exaggerating about letting that Scribe off light, had he? She had honestly made a change in him. Made him a better, more considerate, more patient leader. She couldn't decide whether to kick herself or kiss him; that razor thin line of general empathy that he'd had before was one of the reasons that he got results - and she worried that thickening that line even a little might throw him off his game. So she did the former inwardly, and the latter outwardly. She leaned in to kiss him delicately, placing a hand on the side of his cheek to make it mean all the more.

"And you're sure that you'll be fine with putting off that shore leave? It's an indefinite procedure", Maxson warned her quietly as she pulled her face back only an inch away from his.

"No. I should be here for her. I  _want_ to be here for her", Lark responded quickly.

Maxson squeezed her hand.

"You aren't half as cruel as you seemed, Arthur."

He let out a deep breath.

"Is that a good thing?", Maxson asked her, unsure of the answer himself.

Lark pulled their entangled hands up to her lips and kissed his knuckles.

"In this line of work? Better to seem cruel than to truly be it."


End file.
